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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235495">the immediate forgiveness in eurydice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivioluna/pseuds/oblivioluna'>oblivioluna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Purple Hyacinth (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Hate to Love (Ish?), My Unresolved Feelings For You Are Killing Me (Hit Me Baby One More Time), Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Season 1/Season 2, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED???????? WHOA, can you believe THAT? W A C K, forgive me fandom for i like lauki too much, i wrote this on a whim because i was bored, pining! pining everywhere! hate that isn't actually hate, semi-canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:26:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,901</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivioluna/pseuds/oblivioluna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>And they are naught but children in the garden together, playing with fire.</i> </p><p>(When she sees him now, she does not know him any longer.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>138</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the immediate forgiveness in eurydice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>1. orpheus</em>
</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>Lauren has always known when to strike.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers the old days when her parents would take her to the theater, and how she would watch the ballerinas flit and sway to the rhythm of the orchestra. How agonizing hours of practice and muscles of steel made the impossible seem easy, elegant, almost. </p><p> </p><p>She remembers how when she was older, two years later, how she cowered from the snakes in the garden that she and Dylan shared, how they had hissed at the two children. How a viper’s mouth contained multitudes of teeth, rows of fangs, ready to strike. One shot of poison, two children down.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers how to shoot, ten years later, scarred and bruised and bitter and vengeful, shot after shot after shot thunking into the practice dummies at the academy. How Will told her to get rest, and how she had promised she would, but began a tradition of lying to his face for months straight, going over and over again to the shooting range and exercising her rage out until it became something sharp and tamed. A wolf on a leash, ready to lunge at the snap of a trigger.</p><p> </p><p>She remembers how in the middle of the day, he had appeared before her, her worst nightmare, former ally, the predator himself. </p><p> </p><p>Lauren Sinclair’s hand exercises a trigger, a gun, a lifelong store of hatred. </p><p> </p><p>It is her will, her goal, her destiny.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, Lauren knows when to strike.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>Here is how a waltz goes:</p><p> </p><p>One-two-three, four-five-six. </p><p> </p><p>Left foot, two feet, right foot, two feet, forward side together, backwards side together.</p><p> </p><p>One, two, three, a barrel of a gun, the tip of a knife.</p><p> </p><p>Left foot, two feet, circling each other. Right foot, two feet, ever so delicately. Forward side together, a broken promise. Backwards side together, hand in unlovable hand, blue against gold. The annual charity ball the Aevaster family hosts is her ruin.</p><p> </p><p>“You seem familiar with the box waltz,” Kieran says, not bothering to wince as she steps on his toes.</p><p> </p><p>She recognizes the song. A Shostakovich melody, from a time long gone. Their time is long gone, too. Now she sees the phantom ghosts of their past lives brushing them as they go around in circles: a woman in red and a man in a dark coat with ruffles, swinging her around a bar. Now she is in all gold, a high collar reaching up to her neck, the glittery organza of the dress fading into black roses that trail the ground, pearls on her ears, her hair swept into a chignon. He is in all white, a masterpiece, anything but innocent with his hair in a high ponytail, white gloves curving over her back.</p><p> </p><p>They are on display.</p><p> </p><p>“I had a tutor,” she says, voice clipped and cold.</p><p> </p><p>The lights blink their eyes at them throughout the darkness, the scent of camellias nearly suffocating.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a woman of many talents, officer.”</p><p> </p><p>“I could say the same about you,” she says as he twirls her around, and her back collides with his chest. The assassin’s breath ghosts her ear, and the heat in her chest nearly breaks.</p><p> </p><p>Four, five, six, rotate, back. Hand in bloody hand.</p><p> </p><p>The violins crescendo.</p><p> </p><p>“Some talents are necessary.”</p><p> </p><p>Forward side together.</p><p> </p><p>“You have your duty, and I have mine. Oh, I understand.”</p><p> </p><p>Backwards side together.</p><p> </p><p>She is parallel to the ground, leg in between his as he dips her, hands digging into his back. A symphony of gold and black, secrets and lies. </p><p> </p><p>It’s ironic, really. For all their former truce stated, they’ve never once been truly truthful with one another. She, herself, has never been truthful to her own self. The others are watching, she can tell, and when Kieran pulls her back up, she yanks him into the center of the marbled dance floor, eyes flitting around the courtyard.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you plan to ruin me, then?” he asks, voice slightly out of breath. Every inch of him is still in place. He is not talking about the dance. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve already ruined us,” she whispers in his ear. </p><p> </p><p>One.</p><p> </p><p>Two.</p><p> </p><p>Three.</p><p> </p><p>A violin cries.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She sees him walk into the office, day by day, waiting for the moment, dreading it, when he comes in without his mask, and levels his blade at the heart of this city - levels it at her own heart. </p><p> </p><p>It reminds her of a game. </p><p> </p><p>One step, two steps.</p><p> </p><p>She passes the archives, squeezing his shoulder. He passes her desk, voice at her ear.</p><p> </p><p>Purple hyacinths land on the doorsteps of the dead, day by day.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>There’s a story that goes like this:</p><p> </p><p>Once upon a time, a girl had come into the secret garden, and had met a boy there.</p><p> </p><p>And they are naught but children in the garden together, playing with fire.</p><p> </p><p>Once upon a time, that garden had been a reality, and not some burnt husk of rubble, smoke still lingering around the edges.</p><p> </p><p>Once upon a time, Lauren Sinclair did not dream about the garden, but had instead lived in it.</p><p> </p><p>She can longer recall <em> his </em>face, or his name.</p><p> </p><p>Once upon a time-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Once upon a time-</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Stop this, </em> she hisses, the punching bag breaking under her weight. <em> It is undignified.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>____</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It is seven o’clock at night, and she breathes under the force of his weight. Kieran’s hand is over her mouth, hands holding down her wrists. The cave is dark. Her eyes search for the usual equipment on the walls and floor: there is none. He’s long abandoned his old lair. Why, she doesn’t bother to ask.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Come to kill me?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s a joke. It doesn’t land as one.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Maybe,” she murmurs into his skin, and shoves him back with the force of her legs. They both stumble upright, puppets freed from their strings.</p><p>
  
</p><p>She wonders who controls who, now.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“You’ve been packing.” </p><p>
  
</p><p><strong>“I do this every so often,”</strong> he says, hair whistling in the wind. </p><p>
  
</p><p>“Scared?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>He scoffs. “You’ve been dangling me under the police force’s nose like a piece of bait. I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘scared,’ more like ‘raging’.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I don’t know why you thought I would do anything else.”</p><p>
  
</p><p><strong>“Neither do I,”</strong> he snarls, lips twitching upward in a merciless grin. “I thought you were more sensible than to let old grudges cloud your thoughts, officer.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>In a flash, she is embracing him in a mockery of sweetness, knife at his back.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I wouldn’t exactly call an attempt on my life and my loved ones an ‘old grudge’.”</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>His hands hover like a butterfly over countless rows of charcoal, paints, oils, canvases. Sketchbooks filled with passerby, screenshots of time, frozen eternally. A woman sitting by a lamplight, a hood over her hair. A man talking to his companion at a cafe, their coffees getting cold. A train passing by a group of children, huddling amongst each other for warmth. Life. Life given, life taken.</p><p> </p><p>The golden light of the lamp in his apartment drowns him in shadows.</p><p> </p><p>Kieran’s fingertips slowly become stained with ink as he draws out line after line, a fervor overcoming his mind as the figure begins to coalesce in front of him. Erase, begin again. Begin, erase. The desk is filled with clippings when he is done.</p><p> </p><p>Golden eyes, auburn hair.</p><p> </p><p>He tears out the page and throws it in the waste bin behind him.</p><p> </p><p>No matter how many times he tries to pin her down, she always resists, a ghost out of his grasp.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Her gun is at the back of his head.</p><p> </p><p>He does not turn around.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren turns off the safety.</p><p> </p><p>“It would be so easy,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “Just to end it right here and now. But I would miss my subordinate.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m honored, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to tell me what you’ve found in the archives thus far? Because it seems as if you find these spaces very, very interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you could say that,” Kieran says, turning around to face her. His glasses catch the morning light, and his blue eyes flicker white for the smallest of seconds. She does not flinch; she knows when to strike and when not to strike. And right now, they are predator against predator, claws and teeth. “Aren’t you glad? You should be glad. We’re helping each other. I feed you information, you don’t kill me-”</p><p> </p><p>“Yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yet,” he says, expressionless. “Forgive me, <em> ma cherie. </em>I forget my life rests in your hands sometimes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then don’t forget.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bang. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A hole through his coat on the chair, smoking. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, Lauren knows when to strike.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>2. apollo</em>
</p><p> </p><p>//</p><p> </p><p>“Your hand is very shaky, Miss Sinclair.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve had a bad morning, Mr. White.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Love and fear are the same sides of the same coin, </em> someone had told her once. She can no longer remember who. <em> You will fall in love and it will feel like entering the jaws of a monster, in a flash, just like that. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Dear Lauren, </em> the monster had asked once. <em> Do you fear me? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Do you need me to steady you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” she says, all too-loud for the office to hear as she gets up from her desk, stumbling towards the office door, twisting it open fiercely. She hears him follow her out, and when they’re both out of seeing distance from the others, she collapses against a wall, pinching the bridge of her nose.</p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t be here.”</p><p> </p><p>“What if I want to be?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that confession I hear in your voice?”</p><p> </p><p>“And if it is?” He steps closer. Lauren does not step back; she’s not that foolish. One step closer, and he’ll be tearing her apart with his nearness, and she’ll be consumed by the desire to wrap her hands around his jugular and-</p><p> </p><p>She supposes fear really does feel like love after all. The feelings are nearly the same, amongst all the hate swirling in her chest. It hasn’t broken, just yet. The dam is still holding her Acheron back.</p><p> </p><p>At least that in itself is honest. </p><p> </p><p>A hand slams against her shoulders, and she’s pushed back into the wall while Kieran corners her, raising his arm over her head, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his pants ever-so casually. Beyond his glasses, she can spot a thousand emotions swirling in the darkness of his oceans. For once, her own hatred is reflected in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“You have carried this on for long enough. Stop.”</p><p> </p><p>A laugh bubbles up in her throat, and she pulls him closer, laughing in his face. Glass presses into her skin as she reached up to cup the back of his neck, drawing him closer. She feels him freeze up.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not over until I say it is,” she whispers. “Once I get what I want from you, I don’t need you any longer.”</p><p> </p><p>This is the bloody truth.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t feel like it at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Lauren.”</p><p> </p><p>They are too close.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“You-”</p><p> </p><p>She ducks under his arm, walking into the shadows of the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>This is her new shooting range.</p><p> </p><p>Instead of bullets, there are barbs, words, thrown with the preciseness of an archer’s arrow. Aimed straight for the chest, wound in thorns and shrouded in secrets. To wound. This is their battleground, now, in the city, where they pace each other, still daring one another to make the first move.</p><p> </p><p>And when one of them does make a move, the other does too.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren will not admit the most frustrating part of going toe-to-toe with Kieran White is not his strategy, his thinking, or his flirtations that disguise his contempt for her.</p><p> </p><p>It is the fact that he is her dark mirror.</p><p> </p><p>She sees herself all too well in him, and detests it with every inch of her being. She reloads, closes the gap between the trigger and her target, but in the end, as she is wounded, so is he. They are going down together. How ironic, really, that this is the only part of their promise that was kept. </p><p> </p><p>“You seem eager today,” Kym says, lifting her sound-blocking headset from her head at the same time she does.</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” Lauren says, tiredly reloading the safety on her pistol.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Someone is playing a lyre in the main square.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren breathes in the cold air, wrapping her scarf around her neck. She rests against the brick walls of a nearby townhouse, smoke pooling in the air with the faint scent of chestnuts. Snow coats Ardhalis in a blanket of silent white, but the chorus of angelic voices is louder than ever. People rush back and forth in the throng, getting preparations ready for the holidays. </p><p> </p><p>She sees him across from her, sword bulging under his coat.</p><p> </p><p>She dares him with one look, a tip of her head.</p><p> </p><p><em> I dare you, </em>he had once said, a lifetime ago, when the protesters were calling for blood against the Scythe.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth contorts downwards. She watches it all in pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Even during the season of death, he still must cart his flowers around like some mockery of winter.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, the bringer of death herself made life grow, too.</p><p> </p><p>She is still staring at him. He has not moved.</p><p> </p><p>And slowly, he turns his back to her, but does not walk the way he went.</p><p> </p><p>Good.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>You don’t bring a gun to a sword fight.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren wonders if daggers are an appropriate substitute, but in the heat of battle, she supposes it doesn’t matter all that much, after all.</p><p> </p><p>Shadows spiral towards them, heavily armed. Kieran and her fight as if they’ve known each other’s moves their entire lives, muscle movement overtaking their deep-rooted distrust of one another. Lauren grunts as she slashes her way forward, gripping onto Kieran’s waist as he levies her up with his back. Black and white, yin and yang, rotating each other in a full circle.</p><p> </p><p>The blood on the floor of the roof reminds her of pomegranate seeds.</p><p> </p><p>They did this once, before it all-</p><p> </p><p>Not now.</p><p> </p><p>He jams his sword into the last shadow, and the battle ends.</p><p> </p><p>They stare, and stare, and stare.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren levies her dagger at his throat the same time he pulls her forward, hand on her waist, sword at her heart. An artist could’ve drawn this, the two of them together, in another life, and named it by the moonlight.</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet, officer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Too bad,” she spits out.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>People begin to ask.</p><p> </p><p>People begin to wonder.</p><p> </p><p><b>“He was an awful ex,” </b>Lauren lies smoothly, breaking a blueberry scone in half and handing both halves to Will and Kym as the majority of the office crowds around her desk, listening intently to her tales. She picks up a scone, twirling it in her fingers. “Never had much consideration for my feelings, really. But he’s changed.”</p><p> </p><p>“You literally look at him as if you want to murder him.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve had disagreements the past few months.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t tell me you need couples’ therapy,” Will whispers.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, throwing a blueberry at his nose. “What we have is complicated.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, now you’re just being one-sided here,” says the devil himself, plopping himself into the chair in front of her. Everyone gives them a wide berth, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them, as if they’re not sure who to believe.</p><p> </p><p>One-two-three, one foot, two feet.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re complicated, sure, but you were never perfect, officer.”</p><p> </p><p>“I never said I was,” she says, finishing the last scone on her table. He looks down at the crumbs on her plate.</p><p> </p><p>“She took the last of the pastries,” Kym says, raising an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“My bad,” Lauren says, raising her hands in a mockery of surrender.</p><p> </p><p>It is a red flag to his eyes.</p><p> </p><p><em> War, </em> it shouts. <em> I will not give into you. </em></p><p> </p><p><em> Neither I, </em>says his answering smile.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>There is a package for her on her bed in her house.</p><p> </p><p>A red hyacinth has been left by the window.</p><p> </p><p><em> Play with me, </em>it shouts.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren closes the door behind her and locks the windows. Once she reaches her bed, she hikes up the white skirts of her nightgown and settles at the foot of it, pulling a blue box out of the package. With one thumb, she flicks the jewelry box open.</p><p> </p><p>A silver chain blinks up at her. Attached to it is a crescent pendant, colored white gold.</p><p> </p><p>She does not need to wonder who her anonymous admirer is.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands trail over the back of the moon, until she finds the familiar bulge of a tracker bug.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You’re playing dirty.”</p><p> </p><p>Kieran snatches the necklace out of her hands. The moon dangles from his palm. She is cast in firelight tonight, and is clad in all black. The sight of it unnerves him, although he will never let it on. She is pretending to be casually visiting his apartment, from the way she leans against his doorframe, hips cocked to the side. </p><p> </p><p>Something wells in him at the sight of his former partner and current enemy.</p><p> </p><p>“And here I thought <b>I could actually get an upper hand for once.</b>”</p><p> </p><p>“You terrible liar,” she says, laughing softly as she enters without a welcome, auburn hair tied back in a high ponytail, glimmering in the light. “I do wonder why I haven’t killed you by now. Even though I need you, unfortunately as that may be.”</p><p> </p><p>“Should I thank you for sparing my life again?”</p><p> </p><p>“You weren’t going to spare mine,” she says, and her voice instantly shoots from a honey-warmth to the ice of an Arctic sea, calling back the memory of a dampened cave. She’d been like this back then, too, letting her rage eat away at her until there was nothing but the ghost of a woman left. </p><p> </p><p>Who she avenges in her name, he’ll never know.</p><p> </p><p>“Were you?”</p><p> </p><p>He does not answer for a beat of ten.</p><p> </p><p>“I never-”</p><p> </p><p>“Liar.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know that I’m not lying.”</p><p> </p><p>“There are exceptions,” Lauren says, taking a step forward. “I can’t quite pinpoint you, assassin.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you did, there would be no need for my charming paradox,” he feigns, gesturing to himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Fair.” She bows her head, grinning to herself. “You win this time.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>“What a relief.”</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“Just don’t get caught, officer,” he says slowly, perching himself on the railing of his apartment. Dark eyes bore into hers. “It’s a dangerous game out there.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve faced down worse, White.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not lying,” he says slowly. “Good for you, then.”</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>3. calliope</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>//</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>This is how the story should go:</p><p> </p><p>Once upon a time, an assassin and an officer brought each other to ruin.</p><p> </p><p>This is not how the story goes.</p><p> </p><p>At least not yet.</p><p> </p><p>A snowstorm comes at the worst time in Ardhalis, but then again, there are no good times for snowstorms, so the storm comes bringing misfortune for eternity. Lauren regrets visiting Kieran’s apartment more than she did already, which is saying something, given the heavy amount of regret she carries with her. When she wakes from the couch, flakes of white continue to pour down upon the city, drowning everything in nothingness. Her hands itch for her pistol and an escape, but neither is with her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m right here.”</p><p> </p><p>She falls back onto the cushions, hand at her belt. Kieran is sitting there, dressed in slacks and a loose white shirt, the v-neck showing his collarbones and chest. His hair is disgruntled, half-out of its ponytail, settling around his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“I really wish I had my pistol with me right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“You do wish. Just don’t kill me when the storm ends. The police will get even more suspicious.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t do anything to make your life end quicker.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, but my existence itself irritates you, darling.”</p><p> </p><p>“You get my point,” she sneers, gripping the hilt of her dagger.</p><p> </p><p>“I do,” he says, mimicking her bitter expression. “The apartment’s big enough for both of us, so if you want to stay far away from me as humanly possible, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I’m assuming you’re fine with the couch for now? Wouldn’t want to intrude on your...preferences.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine enough,” she says, hugging a pillow to her chest. “I’d say you do the same. Accidents happen easily, and it would be extra unfortunate to see you splayed out on the snow if you slipped on the ice on your doorstep one day.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d better take caution, I suppose,” he says, raising a hand as he gets up from his seat. Lauren watches him disappear into one of the rooms, and gets up from the couch, inspecting the place. It still looks the same, but is lit drearily due to the clouds outside, casting a gray light on everything that moves.</p><p> </p><p>It’s eerie how nothing has changed since that day. It was different back then, too different. It had been nighttime, not blinding day, and he’d carried her to the table in the kitchen, ripping open her costume with no heed in order to bandage her wounds up. And then he’d proceeded to wound her in the worst possible way.</p><p> </p><p>Her hands trail over the sink faucet. Somehow, she has traveled from the living room all the way here. Perhaps it is her who should be taking caution with him. Boarding with someone like Kieran White is no travesty.</p><p> </p><p>But he will not see her fear.</p><p> </p><p>Not like that day when he held her captive.</p><p> </p><p>She will never allow her heart to be opened to his own.</p><p> </p><p>Not ever.</p><p> </p><p>After all, he’d pretended first. He’d pretended to care, to be human. Now, she has no idea what he is. Something worse, even. There is no ‘better’ with him, no.</p><p> </p><p>She holds her hand over the water dripping from the faucet, scrubbing her face with cold liquid. When she emerges, towelling her face off, light shines through the window, casting away the gray.</p><p> </p><p>They are but children with matchsticks, daring to light each other on fire.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Glowed on the marble, where the glass </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From which a golden Cupidon peeped out-” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I told you not to look through my stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not looking,” Lauren says, crossing her arms. She nods her head towards the book on his coffee table. “You left your little anthology open. I was bored. You’ve been keeping good on your promise, at least. I can almost pretend you don’t exist.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good riddance, officer.”</p><p> </p><p>“That nickname is starting to lack originality,” she says, flicking his shoulder as she begins to exit his room. “You should change it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t call you detective,” he says, and before Lauren knows it, he’s captured her wrist, not letting her go. She hasn’t seen him without his glasses and uniform in ages - now he looks like the old version of himself; something that unnerves her deeply. “That would be inaccurate. Do you have a preference, <em> darling? Mon amour? </em> Brat? <em> Pestilence? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Ouch,” she says, smiling at him with all her teeth. “That hurts, <em> love. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>He looks as if he’s been slapped in the face.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose I should change up subordinate, too,” she admits, rolling her neck to the side. “Coward. Bastard. Dearest. <em> Bien-aime? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“How you wound me, Sinclair.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>“The pleasure’s all mine, White.”</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The truth hits harder than she thought it would.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>A week passes.</p><p> </p><p>The storm does not let up in the slightest.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren begins to wonder if she is being cursed. The radio broadcasts are down, too, so no news anywhere. No news from the precinct, period. Kym and Will are doing ok; she’s been visiting their houses - or at least, she <em> was, </em>before the worst of the storm hit.</p><p> </p><p>And now she is confined with him, again.</p><p> </p><p>One step, two steps.</p><p> </p><p>Her feet shuffle into first position, unconsciously.</p><p> </p><p>She falls onto the couch, raising a hand over her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re doing that again.”</p><p> </p><p>Lauren groans quietly, both arms over her eyes. She doesn’t bother to get up, but hears his footsteps come up behind the couch. “What, again?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your feet,” he says. Something smells like tea leaves and flowers. “You do that when you’re nervous.”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you before, I had tutors for a lot of things.”</p><p> </p><p>“What a well-mannered woman they raised.”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts. “You’re not lying, you know. Be more careful with what you say around me, <b>beloved</b>.”</p><p> </p><p>Kieran says nothing, and instead, she hears the clinking of glasses on the table. Lauren’s arm falls to the side, and out of one eye, she sees him sit on the couch across from her, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Two cups of hot tea are on the glass.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m always careful.”</p><p> </p><p>Lauren raises an eyebrow in disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>“Just drink. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”</p><p> </p><p>She drinks.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>Her finger itches for a pistol under her skin more than ever.</p><p> </p><p>She settles for the next best thing, which is attempting to knock Kieran White down.</p><p> </p><p>One of the rooms in the apartment has been made into a miniature training room, with equipment lining the walls. She raises her fists, cloth over her knuckles and ankles. Her familiar clothing rests in the manor, so instead, she’s settled for loose pants and a tank top this evening. He stands across from her in the exact same position, the shirt he wore when they first met on his frame.</p><p> </p><p>It makes her want to hurt him even more. Do something. Collide with his flesh and blood and bone and make him understand, <em> understand </em>what he has done to her.</p><p> </p><p>She swings her fist at him.</p><p> </p><p>He dodges, and muscle memory takes over, the rage like a cloud in her mind.</p><p> </p><p>They’ve done this before. It wasn’t here, but in the forest, in the shelter of a cave, where everything was so simple and yet not. Lauren moves like a viper, waiting for the moment to aim at his weak spots: below his jaw, his midriff, his knees. </p><p> </p><p>But he knows her.</p><p> </p><p>She wishes he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>They seem to block each other blow for blow until both of them are left panting, sweaty, unhinged. Her hair has come undone. His eyes are full of something she cannot discern. </p><p> </p><p>In one swift moment, she sweeps his leg out from under him, straddling his hips, holding down his wrists.</p><p> </p><p>Now, she has won.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, she does not tear herself away from him. It takes her a while to realize Kieran’s sword is in its hold feet away from him, within arms length. But he does not reach for it. He only looks at her.</p><p> </p><p>He should not be this weak with her.</p><p> </p><p>How dare he be weak with her.</p><p> </p><p>It is she who holds his blade to his throat, their foreheads colliding in a haze. They share the same breath.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re losing your touch, love,” she pants.</p><p> </p><p>“Wrong,” he croaks out, and electricity jolts through her when he lifts up the hem of her tank top to scrape the tip of her dagger against her spine. She falters, quivering in his hold. Too close.</p><p> </p><p>Too close.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The heating goes out, because of course it does.</p><p> </p><p>The electrician who comes to fix the apartment claims it will only take a day, and so Lauren and Kieran are left to chatter silently huddled in their blankets, glaring at each other.</p><p> </p><p>“You look like a gremlin,” he snorts.</p><p> </p><p>She spits in his face.</p><p> </p><p>They do not talk for the rest of the day.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the night goes differently from how it usually does, given that the temperature goes down even more, and the piles of blankets Lauren layers on top of her and on the couch aren’t enough to warm her dead, cold heart.</p><p> </p><p>So she makes the worst decision of her life.</p><p> </p><p>On second thought, she’s made worse, actually, so it’s okay.</p><p> </p><p>Kieran wakes up to the sound of his door being kicked open.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you-”</p><p> </p><p>“Move,” she commands, and slides next to him in the bed. She watches his eyes go wide with shock as she layers the three blankets she’d been lugging behind her on top of them, turning her back to him. When he continues to stare, she raises her eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to freeze forever?”</p><p> </p><p>“Suit yourself, Sinclair,” he mutters, turning his back to her. She will not acknowledge his back pressed against hers brings her more comfort than she was expecting to find.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>Two weeks.</p><p> </p><p>In Lauren’s mind, two weeks shorten into a twenty-four hour clock of doom, and on the twelfth hour, snow that could’ve consumed the city whole melts into nothing.</p><p> </p><p>How a woman wishes she could feel nothing, but alas. </p><p> </p><p>There is unparalleled joy in seeing the sun after centuries of being trapped with her nemesis.</p><p> </p><p>“Now I can kill you properly,” she says, hands over her heart. “As soon as I get my pistol back.”</p><p> </p><p>She cannot discern his expression once again, and hates it. “The sentiment’s all mine, officer.”</p><p> </p><p>Her warmth shutters like the curtains during a closing call.</p><p> </p><p>“This doesn’t change anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Kieran does nothing but nod.</p><p> </p><p>“I never said it did.”</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 4. hecate </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> // </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She remembers the thrill of her first chase. Two years past, when she had first captured a gang of criminals alongside Kym and Will. It had been a blessing and a gift, the silence, the rush, the feeling of being infinite.</p><p> </p><p>It is that same feeling, but not quite, that ignites when she sees him again.</p><p> </p><p>Something else harbors beneath it, dangerous and electric and ready to be unleashed.</p><p> </p><p>For the first five days at the office, he ignores her completely.</p><p> </p><p>Lauren tries not to feel extremely disappointed, and lets wrath take over as usual.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing will change between the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>This is how the story goes.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>It gets worse.</p><p> </p><p>Radio silence for one week isn’t exactly conducive to her temper. Yes, she’d prefer it this way. No, she does not understand why she craves his company like a beggar, from a man that wounded her so deeply for so long. Lauren’s mind runs amok with thoughts of Kieran, although she’d prefer to not admit it at all. For so long, he has been her focal point alongside the bigger picture.</p><p> </p><p>Who is she kidding, though. There has never been a bigger picture. It’s always been vengeance from the start.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re getting distracted.”</p><p> </p><p>She nearly drops her coffee cup.</p><p> </p><p>And there he is, standing right in front of her as if nothing has changed.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re one to talk,” she quips, golden eyes narrowing his way. “Missed me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe,” he says slowly. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not acting like it,” Lauren says, and it’s a low blow; she knows it. They have no connection, they’re enemies, and shouldn’t miss each other, no matter what happens between them. They are each other’s bane, and yet here she is, acting like some fool. “I’ve nothing to say to you.”</p><p> </p><p>And for the second time, she is pinned against the wall - or at least somewhat, as she captures his hands before they can slam into wood, fingers curling against his. </p><p> </p><p>Dangerous, dangerous.</p><p> </p><p>“You should’ve killed me by now,” he says, voice far too soft.</p><p> </p><p><b>“Maybe I just like seeing you suffer,”</b> she manages.</p><p> </p><p>_____</p><p> </p><p>One step, two steps.</p><p> </p><p>She passes the archives, squeezing his shoulder. He passes her desk, voice at her ear.</p><p> </p><p>At midnight, a red rose lands on her desk.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>Something’s different.</p><p> </p><p>Kym keeps giving her weird looks whenever she passes by him. Weirder looks when he passes by her.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks nothing of it.</p><p> </p><p>Or tries to.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>When they spar next, it is different. </p><p> </p><p>She shys away from his touch, as if she will be stung by it. They end up with her pistol at the side of his head, his sword at her neck. None of them move.</p><p> </p><p>And she understands that whatever this thing is, he feels it too.</p><p> </p><p>“Hesitating, aren’t we?” he croons, and a part of her aches, because she has not heard him talk to her like that in months. Kieran’s blade trails the length of her jaw, and before she can react, it is tilting her chin up to meet his eyes, in a playful manner. He should not be leaving his side open. She should not be weak the way she is now.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not the one who’s completely defenseless.”</p><p> </p><p>“Touche, <em> mon bien-aime. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“How dare you steal from me,” she hisses, and ducks under his blade, reaching to press the barrel of the gun into his temple.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t aware you copyrighted me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know that’s not what I mean!” she says, throwing his sword to the floor with a flick of her wrist, gripping onto his shoulders. “You’ve been driving me insane for <em> months. </em>Are you that prideful to actually apologize for what you’ve done?! Or does this mean absolutely nothing to you?”</p><p> </p><p>She avoids his gaze as she falls to her knees, pistol tight in her hands.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>“I hate you.”</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t blame you,” he says quietly.</p><p> </p><p>She says nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m your monster. I wish I wasn’t. And I hate myself every second of our dance because I know that I caused it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t start with me now,” she says, chuckling mirthlessly.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean it.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a wonder how I can detect lies, but can’t even discern truth from falsity. You’re a living vice, Kieran,” she says, taking a hand through her hair. “You ruin me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I could say the same about you,” he murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m honored.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” she asks. </p><p> </p><p>He is silent.</p><p> </p><p>“I was never going to…” He falters. </p><p> </p><p>“If you’ll let me,” Kieran continues, “I’ll help you finish what we started.”</p><p> </p><p>She looks up at him.</p><p> </p><p>“You better.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s not an apology.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not an acceptance, either.</p><p> </p><p>But something like it.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 5. tartarus </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> // </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She is falling.</p><p> </p><p>He catches her.</p><p> </p><p>They share the same clothing; the same black top hats, the same coats. Becoming Lune once again is like coming home - albeit to a dangerous one. They leap across rooftops, limber as cats. She’s missed this. She’s missed this with every fiber of her being. She is endless, victorious, and so is he.</p><p> </p><p>They are not silent, they are not in hiding. </p><p> </p><p>They are everywhere.</p><p> </p><p>When they land, it is in the middle of a grotto, water pooling at their feet. The moon shines high above them, crescent wobbling in the ripples of the waves, turned to white milk. A waterfall falls in front of their new cave; only they know the passageway beyond it that leads to their new hideout - an airy space with crystals hanging from the top of the cave, dripping water on a damp night like this. She practically tears off her hat and mask, breathing in dew.</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t get killed this time,” he comments. “That’s a start.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re wounded,” she scoffs, yanking his hat down. “Take off your coat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Officer.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not asking,” she bites out, shoving the collar of his coat down. Kieran hisses as she yanks down his clothing, stumbling out of her grip as he tears off his own shirt, revealing bruises on his already-scarred back and chest, on miles and miles of rugged muscle that form his figure, honey-colored skin stretching down to a tantalizing end. She wraps bandages around her hands, not daring to look.</p><p> </p><p>“You never learn.”</p><p> </p><p>“Look who’s talking.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re annoying as ever,” she says, gesturing for him to come closer. She swallows hard as he does so, watching the injured parts of his skin twist as he walks. Lauren perches herself up on the vanity to the side, a mirror at her back as she inspects his wounds.</p><p> </p><p>“Keep this on. And don’t think about removing it,” she says sternly, dipping her index into a tub of salve, dragging it along his collarbone, his chest. </p><p> </p><p>The lights flicker.</p><p> </p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it.”</p><p> </p><p>She resists the urge to roll her eyes as she tugs him closer, bandaging the parts where he’s been cut open. His body is a mural of scars, and so is hers. Seeing it on him is more unnerving than viewing herself, though.</p><p> </p><p>She must act quickly. She cannot let herself break; she is close to.</p><p> </p><p>Why is he <em> close- </em></p><p> </p><p>“Lauren.”</p><p> </p><p>He hasn’t said her first name in ages. </p><p> </p><p>Her legs, she realizes, are pressed up against his. She cannot move. She cannot move at all.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re nervous,” he says, and she forces herself to meet his eyes. He cocks his head to the side. “Elevated heart rate. Dilated pupils. You’re breathing very heavily, officer.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been watching me,” she says quietly. She cannot manage to speak louder than a whisper. “I should’ve known that you would mimic me one day. Now you have the advantage.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, but I can tell you’re not lying right now, so what use do I actually have?” he says, voice a low purr. Her fingers hover over his chest, but he continues to close the gap between them until she can no longer breathe and he is <em> too close and his lips are at her ear- </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You will fall in love, and it will be like entering the jaws of a monster, in a flash- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want from me?” she breathes, as he turns to her, lips millimeters away from hers. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. </p><p> </p><p>“Only the truth.”</p><p> </p><p>She bites down on her lip, hard. </p><p> </p><p>He pulls her lip back, finger against her mouth, forehead against hers. Kieran is going to swallow her whole and she is going to go down into the darkness with him, surrendering the light.</p><p> </p><p>This is how the story goes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>“I hate you.”</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“Again,” he says, and she realizes he is desperate as she is.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>“I hate you.”</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Their mouths collide, and Lauren’s nails rake into his back as he kisses her fiercely, kisses the way he fights, taking everything ruthlessly. His hand squeezes her waist, and she cants her body towards him, seeking heat, everything that she took from him.</p><p> </p><p>“Again.”</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>“I hate you,” </em> </b> she gasps, as he captures her mouth again and again. <b>“I can barely breathe when you’re around because of how much I hate you.”</b></p><p> </p><p>“You little <em> liar, </em>” he growls, and his teeth are at her neck, her ear. He is too close. “You little hypocrite. You detest me, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>“With every fiber of my being.”</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>She hates this.</p><p> </p><p>She hates the way he looks at her as if she is the moon in a starless sky, when she is vulnerable, when she has nothing but her clothes on her - and even then, when there is nothing between them, how he looks at her like she is his Nike, his victory.</p><p> </p><p>One step, two steps.</p><p> </p><p>She has fallen.</p><p> </p><p>She cannot get up.</p><p> </p><p>The one thing she hates most about Kieran White is absolutely nothing at all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ____ </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 6. eurydice  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> // </em>
</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes, she has left.</p><p> </p><p>Of course she has.</p><p> </p><p>Kieran sits up in his makeshift bed, rubbing at his head. There’s no sign of her; she’s taken her clothes and first aid kit with her. Only the sound of the rushing waterfall is left, and him in the corner of a cave, bandaged and bruised and vulnerable.</p><p> </p><p>She’d taken from him last night.</p><p> </p><p>No, correction, she’d taken <em> everything. </em></p><p> </p><p>Why did he expect anything else?</p><p> </p><p>They’re on opposite sides of a war, there’s nothing he can do about it. </p><p> </p><p>A glance towards the stash of hyacinths in the corner.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Please forgive me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You left, <em> mon bien-aime. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>She swallows harshly, turning around to face him in the archives. Aside from his exhausted expression, Kieran looks the same as he would any other day in the office. Lauren knows neither of them are the same. </p><p> </p><p>“I had to. The others would suspect.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know that,” he sighs, taking a hand through his hair.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says, and watches as his eyes light up in surprise. Lauren looks down in unease, shuffling the buttons on her shirt. “But now you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>This isn’t how the story is supposed to go.</p><p> </p><p>There is no ending in sight.</p><p> </p><p>“White, aren’t you supposed to be filing precedents K-Z?!” calls out one of the other archivists. “Stop dawdling with Sinclair!”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m on it,” he calls back, and Lauren watches as he walks away from her, a thousand conflicting emotions playing out a reel in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>What’s done is done, she supposes.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no going back now.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p> </p><p>When they pass each other next, something new happens.</p><p> </p><p>She sees the roses, the hyacinths, the daisies, the meadow long gone before her eyes, rubble reduced to ash and on fire.</p><p> </p><p>There is no restoring the past, but she can, perhaps, establish a future.</p><p> </p><p>One step, two steps, three steps, backwards shift and slide.</p><p> </p><p>This is how the story ends.</p><p> </p><p>When the screams come, as they always do, she finds him in a crowd of no one, clad in all black. He is her shadow, her mirror, her long-lost search for vengeance. Blue against gold, gold against black, sword to gun, yin to yang, on and on and on and on.</p><p> </p><p>She holds out her hand. His own is stained with red.</p><p> </p><p>“Come with me,” she breathes.</p><p> </p><p>This is how the story ends-</p><p> </p><p>There is no ending.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title of this fic comes from Hozier's 'Talk.'</p><p>The waltz that plays during Lauren and Kieran's dance scene is 'Dance of the Dolls'. I recommend listening to it when the line "You seem..." appears; from then on, it really elevates the entire sequence.</p><p>The 'once upon a time' motif comes from N.K. Jemisin's 'The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.' Yes, I have referenced this book in two of my works now, what about it?</p><p>The quote about love in Part 2 comes from C. Valente's 'Deathless,' and the line "Dear Lauren..." was inspired by H. Black's The Wicked King.</p><p>'Acheron' is the river of pain in Asphodel, the Underworld in Greek Mythology.</p><p>The 'bringer of death' part references Persephone, Goddess of Spring, whose name literally means 'bringer of death.'</p><p>Lauren and Kieran fighting the attackers on the roof is an explicit parallel to the throne room fight scene in The Last Jedi.</p><p>Blame the copious amount of snowstorms that occur in the Midwest/East Coast/Canada for the entire 'snowstorm arc'. Without you, blizzards with negative temperatures, we never would've gotten our favorite ships. Bless.</p><p>The poem that appears after Part 1 of Calliope is a snippet from T.S. Eliot's 'The Waste Land'.</p><p>Part 2 of 'Hecate' references Cities Under Crowns. A true power move is referencing your own work. Take that, haterz.</p><p>Nike is the goddess of victory in Greek/Roman Mythology.</p><p>Orpheus, Apollo, Calliope, Hecate, Tartarus and Eurydice all have a role in the original tale of Orpheus/Eurydice.</p><p>And yes, that ending was purposely open-ended.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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